


Keep Calm, Keep Still

by runswithchopsticks



Category: EXO (Band), Mamamoo
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, honestly just what, slight hydrophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-29 06:24:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5118488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runswithchopsticks/pseuds/runswithchopsticks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Minseok has never really had a decent experience with any bodies of water, but something might change his mind. Just a bit.</p><p>xiuchen ft. moonbyul ftw</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keep Calm, Keep Still

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CHENDANCINGMACHINE](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=CHENDANCINGMACHINE).



> originally written for CHENDANCINGMACHINE on AFF as a birthday gift.  
> xiuchen ft. moonbyul, basically.

When Jongdae proposes that they three do something together for the last weekend before the beginning of a new school year, Minseok has no objections. Jongdae tells him to pack a towel, a swimsuit, extra clothing, and his waterproof camcorder (the word  _waterproof_ was stressed – Minseok wonders why); they’re just going to SeaWorld, he says, because Byulyi likes feeding the seals and cooing at the orcas, even though Jongdae always complains that whenever they go there she smells like fish at the end of the day.

Nobody tells Minseok what time on Saturday he’s going to be picked up, but he gets a couple minutes notice anyway.

When he spots Byulyi’s ratty blue pickup truck pulling into his apartment unit parking lot, the neighborhood is already filled with the staccato boom-booms and thundering vibrations from the vehicle’s music player.

Minseok begins to climb down the stairs, his backpack slung over one shoulder and his camcorder hanging by its strap on his wrist; as he does so, Byulyi rolls down her window and gives him an excited grin and wave, instantly blasting Minseok in the face with the familiar tune of I’m Sexy and I Know It.

Henry, his downstairs neighbor, opens the sliding door to his patio and pokes his head outside, complimenting Byulyi on her music choice and wishing them a safe trip before retreating back into the comfort of his home.

“Seriously?” Minseok laughs, as he opens the truck’s back doors, sliding in next to Jongdae. “ _I’m Sexy and I Know It?_ You’re going to go deaf, Byulyi. I’m surprised you aren’t already.”

Byulyi chuckles at his comment, before replying, “Well, if I’m going deaf, you both are going down that road with me. And really, Seok, I  _am_ sexy and I  _do_ know it.”

She giggles, and steps on the gas pedal as she pulls out of the neighborhood, nearly hitting a pedestrian on the way.

* * *

Minseok doesn’t know what time it is, where he is, or how long he’s been passed out, but he unsticks the side of his cheek from the cotton of the shoulder of Jongdae’s t-shirt, scratching the edge of his jaw and flexing the muscles there that were stiff from holding his mouth open for so long.

Jongdae prods him in his side. “Get up,” he says, “We’re here.”

Looking up through the windshield of the truck, the surrounding area doesn’t look like SeaWorld to Minseok. There’s no other cars, various Greyhound and school buses, families with giant bags of pool noodles and life vests surrounding them, or the giant Journey to Atlantis coaster looming above everyone; in fact, it doesn’t seem like they’re in the amusement park parking lot at all. The predicted black pavement and turquoise gates of the park are replaced with a wide blue sky, white plastic fences, colorful rectangular dots in the distance, and… oh.  _Sand._

Minseok reels back several steps, nearly tripping backwards as he realizes where they are.

“We’re at the  _beach_ ,” he says.

Jongdae glances up at Byulyi, and in return she gives him a small nod. “Yes, Minseok. The beach,” Jongdae affirms.

“Why?” Minseok asks, taking a wary step back. “You know I don’t like the sea water.”

“Byulyi and I thought… it just might be a good idea. To try something new. You don’t have to swim or anything, and there’s plenty of photo ops around here,” Jongdae replies comfortingly, biting his lip.

Instinctively, Minseok clutches the camcorder hung around his wrist tightly, his empty hand closing into a fist. He wants to leave, wants to go back. But instead, he takes a deep breath; they’re there already, after all.

“Fine,” he mutters.

* * *

It’s not that he doesn’t know how to swim, or that he’s hydrophobic.

Minseok just doesn’t trust it.

He doesn’t trust anything that doesn’t have a conscious of its own, such as weather or computers or birds; however, to he, water was a major contender.

As soon as the liquid would touch his waistline, he’d feel like the control of his own body would slowly give way to the gentle pulling and tugging of the waves. He would be pulled and tugged along with it, no ability to direct his movement, instead being roughed along like a child’s ragdoll. It was an ugly feeling, having no command over one’s own property, much less one’s own  _body_.

Thus, he’d never take baths, walk in rain heavier than a drizzle, or, God forbid,  _swim_. The only occasion he had allowed himself to become submerged within the water was when he had an anchor – a life vest of sorts, a person to keep him afloat and safe amidst his muddled confusion and wariness; his mother, when she was the one to teach him how to swim.

But that was nearly two decades ago, and Minseok’s never touched the water since.

Therefore, he hides behind his camcorder for the majority of the day. It’s nothing new to him; he does it anyway, both out of habit, liquid crystal screen acting as a shield for himself against the stark contrast and blunt indifference of the world, and as his career as a student studying photojournalism at a fine arts academy. For today, he chooses to dwell on the happier side of things, trying his best to capture the last days of summer break in film as best as he can.

It’s pretty successful, he thinks. Byulyi and Jongdae give him plenty of opportunities, and he thinks this roll of photos and few videos is laughable enough to net him a few witty comments and many likes on Instagram.

* * *

The first one he gets is Byulyi writing her name in the sand.

She crouches down on the shore, next to a rock outcropping. Her index finger traces out the last L in “MOON BYUL”, embedded clearly and darkly in the golden grains.

In the next frame, Jongdae kneels besides to her. He decides that the two O’s in “MOON” look like something that grows on a woman’s chest, and thusly details the letters so.

The last frame is Byulyi shoving his face into the sand.

* * *

When they buy lunch at one of the food stands on the boardwalk, Jongdae, bless his resourceful soul, wonders if it’s possible to catch anything edible in the sea (nobody is sure if he’s being serious). He leaves Byulyi, Minseok, and his sacred pouch of fries (“don’t touch,” he growls) on their towels, and wanders over to the shallow pools near the coastal rocks in the distance.

Out of curiosity, Minseok and Byulyi trail behind him.

“Stop,” Jongdae says, crouched down in front of a pool, his back facing towards the two. “I found something.”

“Ooo, what is it?” Byulyi asks, clapping her hands together.

Slowly, Jongdae stands up and turns around to face his two friends.

Pinched between his index finger and thumb is a small, black, spiky ball.

“Oh my god, how are you even holding that? What the hell is that, anyways?” Byulyi asks, gazing at it in fascination. She leans forward, intending to touch it, but retracts her hand because it’s  _spiky_. And looks like it could kill you.

That’s how Minseok feels, at least. He’s not fascinated like Byulyi is, he’s  _terrified_. The thing is ugly and gross, and just glancing at it makes him want to cry. It could be an uglier cousin of the hairballs Henry’s cat throws up on the daily basis.

“A sea urchin,” Jongdae says. He notices Minseok’s scrunched up face, and extends his arm towards him.

“Don’t get any closer,” Minseok warns, taking a small step backwards. “That is the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen.”

Jongdae smiles, and only leans forward even closer. “Aw, don’t be so mean. It’s going to be sad,” he pouts.

“No, it’s ugly.”

The smile on Jongdae’s face turns into a wide, shit-eating grin. He suddenly shoves the sea urchin in Minseok’s face, a giant spike sticking itself in the center of the other man’s gaze.

Minseok screams, and runs as fast as his feet will take him. And of course, Jongdae, being the monster he is, sprints after him, his right arm outstretched as far as it will go, and the black spiky ball still held in between his two fingers.

Byulyi cries in the background.

* * *

Later, Byulyi wants to build sandcastles, but Jongdae says that’s too childish.

He suggest they build each other into sand sculptures. Nobody opposes.

Jongdae wants to be a thunderbird, he says, but that’s obviously far beyond the artistic level of any of the three of them, so he settles for a lightning bolt.

Minseok gets a picture of him grinning stupidly at the camera, a pair of pitch-black square sunglasses perched on his face. He says they make him look “hot enough to fry you like a lightning bolt”, but to Minseok and Byulyi, he simply looks high.

When Jongdae and Minseok start building Byulyi into something, Minseok decides to buy something from one of the candy stands at the edge of the beach. He returns, chocolate bar and camcorder in hand, to Jongdae rolling around in the sand, unable to retain his raucous laughter.

“Seok, what did he make me?” Byulyi asks, a growl building in her throat.

Minseok huffs, trying his best not to laugh. “Well,” he begins, “Both Jongdae and I have one, but you don’t.”

In one swift motion, Byulyi lunges out of the sand, reaching straight for Jongdae’s throat. “What’s with you and genitalia?!” she shouts, effectively shoving his whole front down into the ground in a flurry of gritty grain and dust afloat in the air.

Minseok finally allows himself to laugh. He caught it all on tape.

* * *

Byulyi and Jongdae approach him when he’s reading. “Why don’t you come with us and wade in the water for a bit?” Jongdae asks.

Minseok’s mood instantly begins to waver. “I’m reading,” he replies.

“But the water’s really cool, and it’s hot out here,” Byulyi says.

Jongdae nods. “Come on, you haven’t gone farther than the shore the whole day.”

“I...” Minseok begins.

“Just for a short while?”

Minseok ponders for a second. “Sure,” he says, taking his camcorder and rising from his comfortable spot on his towel. Jongdae and Byulyi grab a wrist on either side of his body, as a way to make sure he doesn’t run away. Minseok notices the subtle nod exchanged between them.

Unknown to them, he flicks on the record button on the device in his hand.

Just as Byulyi and Jongdae are about to pull him into the water, at a level just further than mid-shin, he splashes backwards, lifting his arms up and out of their grasps with a vigorous force. He pushes the two in front of him, catching both of his friends off their balances, giggling as he runs back onto the beach. The camcorder in his hand is pointed back towards the water.

Byulyi had managed to stabilize herself, although flailing forward clumsily onto her knees, but Jongdae isn’t so lucky. He was completely caught off guard, and fell to his side with a panicked squeal and a large splash.

Minseok is already standing at the edge of the shore, lens pointed directly at the two. He grins, cackling madly, before sprinting back to his towel.

* * *

Of course, Minseok has enough material on film to keep himself entertained for a substantial amount of time as he flips through the files on the camcorder’s small screen.

However, there’s one single photo that’s his favorite.

It’s not funny, it’s not witty, it’s not cool, nor is it pretty.

It’s a very simple photo, he thinks. That’s why he likes it.

It’s a photo of Jongdae, standing in the sea.

Jongdae stares off to the side, his eyes transfixed on something out in the far waters. His hair is wet, random strands hanging in front of his eyes, and his arms are at his sides. Only the side of his face is visible, the edges of his nose and his cheeks framed by the sunlight.

Minseok has always liked Jongdae’s face, especially his side profile. The sharp features of his friend looked odd to him, in an extremely entrancing kind of way, and Minseok could not put it in any other way than the fact that he simply  _liked_ Jongdae’s face (quite a lot, to be frank). Whenever Jongdae glanced at him for more than a second, Minseok would stare back, his gaze scanning over the former’s face over and over again, memorizing all of its characteristics.

Of course, he did think it was rather odd for him to be attracted and intrigued to such an extent by another person’s face, and once upon a time the notion that he might have a _crush_ passed over his mind – but Minseok just brushed it off, laughing at himself for ever coming up with such a thought. He says that he’s just interested because he’s an  _artiste_ and knows a unique subject when he sees one.

Minseok compliments himself on his photography skills, for the angling of the sunlight as it washes over Jongdae’s figure truly brings together the beautiful simplicity and the composition of the picture. It’s captivating.

* * *

Halfway through the late afternoon, Minseok is laying on his stomach, taking still-life shots of the surrounding area from his spot under his umbrella.

He doesn’t notice Jongdae approaching him until something wet and heavy drops onto his shoulder.

“Blaaaagh,” Jongdae murmurs, rolling clumsily onto his front. The left half of his body is messily arranged on top of Minseok’s back.

“Get off, Jongdae, you’re too fat,” Minseok says gruffly, elbowing his friend in the stomach.

The man on top of Minseok doesn’t move over – instead, he scoots forward until his face is right next to Minseok’s cheek, breath blowing cold air over the skin there.

“I’m hungry,” Jongdae says.

“Feed yourself, you’re a grown man,” Minseok retorts.

“Too lazy.”

“Then get off of me, at least.”

Jongdae blows another gust of cold air. Unbeknownst to him, it grazes right over the lobe of Minseok’s ear, sending shivers down the man’s spine. Minseok hopes Jongdae is still damp enough from swimming not to feel the goosebumps rising on his back.

“Comfy,” Jongdae murmurs, letting his head fall with a soft  _whump_ onto the towel. Minseok nudges at him, but the other doesn’t move. His eyes are closed.

Sighing, Minseok flicks off his camcorder and reaches for his book. He flips open to the spot where he left off. Soon, the only thing he hears are his brain reading to him the text on the worn pages and the soft, sleepy breaths of the man lying next to him.

* * *

Byulyi discovers a large outcropping of rock later that day.

The top of it juts out over the water, at least forty or so feet in the air, overlooking the area with a silent and somber stillness as the sea breeze drifts across its surface.

Byulyi suggests they eat dinner there. She says the view is beautiful, and watching the sunset from atop the rock would be the perfect scenario.

Minseok finds himself helping laying out the towels as Jongdae hauls the rest of their belongings onto the black rock. Byulyi was right – the view from up there was indeed striking, and although the sun had not yet begun to set, Minseok could envision the colors and beauty of the sky when the star actually did begin its trip from west to east.

Once everything had been laid out, Minseok and Jongdae both take a spot on their towels. Byulyi had run back to the boardwalk to buy food.

“Can I see the photos you took?” Jongdae asks.

Minseok nods, handing him his camcorder.

For the next few minutes, Jongdae absentmindedly flips through the files; Minseok hears the repeated  _click_ of the right arrow button on the device being pressed, as he looks out over the sea.

He occasionally glances at Jongdae, gauging the latter’s reaction to the photos he took – it’s a bad habit of his, caring a lot about how a piece is received by his peers, when in actuality the theory of art is intended for his enjoyment only. But really, Minseok argues, everything has to have a balance, so he can’t say he shouldn’t care about how others perceive his work.

The fifth or sixth time he looks at Jongdae, the other is staring oddly at something on the screen – his eyebrows are furrowed together in a sort of mild curiosity, and his thumb runs over the edge of the liquid crystal repeatedly. Minseok tilts his head, wondering what Jongdae must be looking at to be so absorbed; but he can’t think of any video or photo he took that would pique the other’s interest quite so.

But Jongdae presses the right arrow button once again, his forehead smoothing out, so Minseok turns back to staring at the sea.

* * *

“Hey,” Jongdae nudges him, setting down the camcorder.

“What?” Minseok replies.

Jongdae gets up from his seat, taking a few steps forward before turning around to face Minseok. He extends his right arm in the latter’s direction.

“I’ve got something to show you,” he says.

Minseok narrows his eyes. “What is it?”

“It’s a surprise,” Jongdae smiles, “just take my hand and you’ll see.”

So that’s what Minseok does; he takes Jongdae’s hand. Jongdae wraps his fingers around Minseok’s palm tightly. His skin is warm – a very sharp contrast to the frozen tips of Minseok’s fingers, but the warmth is calming and sends tingles up Minseok’s arm.

Jongdae takes a few steps forward, until they’re standing half a foot away from the edge of the outcropping. He pulls Minseok, until the other man is standing next to him, their backs facing the sun.

“What’re you going to show me? I don’t see anything,” Minseok says. He scrunches his nose at the cold sea breeze tickling his back. “And it’s cold.”

Tightening his grip on Minseok’s hand even further, Jongdae smiles. He leans towards his friend’s ear, until his lips are only an inch away.

Minseok trembles slightly at the close proximity, but he keeps still.

“Just follow me,” Jongdae whispers, before falling backwards, their hands still firmly clasped together.

Minseok feels weightless.

* * *

His eyes are shut tightly closed, and he wants to scream. But he dares not to open his mouth, for then the foreign substance would invade his throat and lungs.

So he settles for thrashing his limbs about in the water, but they feel slow and sluggish, pulling against the current that threatens to tear him apart. He’s probably sinking, he realizes, but that thought doesn’t register immediately.

Something grabs at his right hand, pulling him towards his left side, bringing his wrists together.

Even though Minseok cannot see, he can just feel something looming closer towards him, so he flails about even faster. He kicks something in the process; but, sort of as a reprimand, the thing holding his two hands together squeezes them harshly, and his body stills as he realizes.

The second he stills, he feels something graze against his cheek gently – the object stays there for a second or so, its gentle touch smoothing over his skin, as if attempting to reassure and calm him.

Something then brushes against his lips; if possible, the action is softer than whatever had caressed his cheek.

But whatever had touched his mouth only lingered for a millisecond before pulling away. Whatever is holding onto him suddenly surges upward, thusly pulling him to the surface.

Minseok breaks the surface of the water with a large gasp, his lungs heaving deep breaths at a rapid pace as he struggles to regain air.

* * *

“What the hell were you two doing in the water?!” Byulyi exclaims, meeting them down at where the rocks met the shore. She has a kabob in each hand, and she waves them about frantically as she skips down the sand.

“Just a short swim,” Jongdae smiles sweetly, before brushing past Byulyi as he climbs onto their ledge.

Byulyi raises an eyebrow, shrugging Jongdae’s answer off as she turns to look at Minseok.

“Seok, you’re shaking, are you okay?” she asks, scanning him up and down with concern. “Here, have a kabob, maybe it’ll make you feel better,” she adds, offering a wooden stick with meat and fruit stabbed on it.

Trembling, Minseok takes the offering of food, grateful for something to eat.

He’s cold, damp, hungry, and he was  _in the damn water_.

But none of those were the reason he trembled so badly.

**Author's Note:**

> this fic literally made no sense to me as i was writing it, but thank you if you've read it all <3


End file.
